


Meridian Response

by WeirdHybrid



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: ASMR, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anxiety, Fluff and Angst, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-20 19:09:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9508058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeirdHybrid/pseuds/WeirdHybrid
Summary: In which Park Chanyeol fights against his increasingly invasive panic and anxiety, finding relief only in the soothing chill of ASMR.





	1. Chapter 1

      “Thank you for loaning me your ears.”  
      A delicious shiver ran down Chanyeol’s vertebrae, slipping in and out of each disc with the fluidity of mercury.  
      “Til next time…”  
      The screen faded to black, but Chanyeol’s vision was already dark, his eyes resting closed in hypnotized bliss. He held his breath in his lungs, unwilling to spoil his current meditative state with the puncturing rumble of exhalation. He waited, the sudden lack of sound diverting his attention to the steady pressure on his ears. But before he could lift his hands to adjust his heavy headphones, a surf-like static welled up through them again, cresting with another wave of fuzzy calm.  
      “We meet again.”  
      Chanyeol smiled, letting his breath out in a satisfied huff as the homey voice, all warmth and intimacy, enveloped him in tingly pleasure. Following his signature introduction, the voice was replaced by a sensory symphony of tapping and crinkling sounds, carrying Chanyeol through the dregs of Friday into Saturday morning. He might’ve felt some bite of shame over starting another weekend off alone in his bed, his phone predictably silent and forgotten on his desk, but his neuroses were too busy curling up in the sunny spot of his mind, consumed by the sleep only rich whispers could induce. Not ten minutes later, Chanyeol was snoring, his angular body stilled in the diffused glow of his laptop screen, his heartbeat matching the methodical, fibrous sounds still floating through his ears.


	2. Chapter 2

      Chanyeol took the gum-smudged steps two at a time, down and out of the stifling lecture hall into the overcast February afternoon. Relieved as he was to escape the clingy dryness of industrial heating, he still felt a creeping uneasiness, his pulse too quick in his neck. He could blame the sprawling art history lecture he’d endured this morning, or the particularly tedious review session about… something relating to economics, Chanyeol supposed, that followed. In both cases, he’d diligently scribbled notes in the margins of his books, verbatim phrases he’d type up later, muscling through an insistent, quavering nausea in his gut. But with his heavy morning behind him, he should, in theory, feel better. 

      A short, forced sigh escaped him, his breath forming a fleeting cloud of steam. As it dissipated, he shivered, squinting into the sun that did little to soften the chill creeping over him. He had an annoyingly brief break before his third class of the day, a likely gruelling two hours of evolutionary biology; forty minutes was neither long enough to go back to his room, nor short enough to head straight to class. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday contained the same irritating mess of a schedule, and after five full weeks, he couldn’t help waking up already tired. Tedium he could deal with, though. 

      He tightened his jaw, suppressing the acidic burn in his throat. This was a different beast altogether. 

      Unsure of where he was headed but unwilling to stay still, he fished his scuffed black wayfarers out from his coat pocket, hitched his bookbag up higher on his wide shoulders, and set off. Steering around the econ building, eyes trained on the repetitive breaks in the pavement rolling beneath his feet, he tried to calm himself, parting his lips to take in a deep breath. His throat spasmed instead, rejecting the painfully cold air. He coughed, feeling an awkward flush flying up his cheeks. Instinctive embarrassment spurred him on, his long legs extending over frostbitten shrubs and over crumbling curbs in retreat. 

      Apprehension welled up again, biting at his mind as he made his way across campus, muscle memory propelling him forward; he weaved behind a blocky lab building, between two tired brick towers, then off onto a stone path, hidden away from the main drag. He looped around the corner, stepping over stalwart tree roots that had disrupted the linear walkway long ago, a now familiar terrain he’d discovered by accident his freshman year, his attempts to find the entrance to the communications building gone awry. As he had then, he angled around a cement partition, oscillating his chin and finding no one within judging distance, then followed a slim set of stairs down to a small landing, the vibrant red glow of an exit sign illuminating the darkly shadowed stairwell. 

      A plank bench, humble in its old age, sat empty, as usual, just to the right of the door. Per his routine, Chanyeol jumped the last two steps, his scuffed Vans slapping flat cement, then pivoted, landing on the bench and kicking his feet up to recline against the wall behind him. He panted a little as he finally acknowledged the stress pooling in his chest. Sure no one could see him in his beloved alcove, he removed his sunglasses, closed his eyes and forced himself to concentrate. 

_       Unclench your teeth.  _

_       Relax your hands.  _

_       Breathe.  _

_       Lower your shoulders.  _

_       Breathe.  _

_       Breathe.  _

      His self-coaching didn’t dent the wall of panic solidifying inside him. His frenzied heart rate, at odds with his cold, dark surroundings, shook erratically in his chest, another wave of nausea peaking in his throat. He opened his eyes, hoping the familiarity of his place might calm him. Instead, the walls seemed to tremble in his vision. The winter air bit at his sweaty temples. He groaned and pitched forward, shielding his face in his knees. 

_       Stop shaking.  _

_       Slow down. _

_       Breathe. _

      The panic spiked again and again. Chanyeol whimpered into his legs, fists taut against his head. His mind a blank white abyss, he felt his throat start to constrict, sending a knife of fear through his gut. 

_       Breathe.  _

_       Breathe! _

      Thin, rasping gasps echoed back into Chanyeol’s ears, sounding scratchy and out-of-focus to him. His pride wavered, then collapsed, as he pictured himself from above. Panic paved the way for loathing, pulling him down with each labored, pinched breath. 

_       Pathetic.  _

_       Fuck up.  _

_       Freak.  _

      Vague spots of color bled behind his eyes, a dizzying effect that turned his stomach. 

      “Please…” he whispered, knuckles pressed hard against his forehead. He felt another flare of panic at hearing his own voice. He looked up, sure he was being heard, watched, but he was as alone as ever, hiding below the rest of the world. 

      But he didn’t have to be. 

      With fumbling fingers, Chanyeol dug around in the front pocket of his bookbag, yanking the thin, tangled cord he sought with one hand, his other grasping for his phone. Thumbing the cracked screen to life and jamming each earbud into place, he chose the first video in his history, the last one he’d listened to as he’d fallen asleep the night before. His phone buffered for a moment, the echo of his unsteady breaths filling his head, before a flood of sound took over. First a fixed static, then, like a rumble of thunder, a voice. 

      “We meet again.” 

      The panic in his chest paused, as if even his demons were waiting for what came next. 

      “Is it morning where you are?” followed by a short pause, warm static filling in the space. Chanyeol stared, hypnotized by the simple image shining up from his phone: a well-loved wooden table, bare, save for two hands resting easily on it’s surface, loose black sweater cuffs rolled once to reveal pale wrists. Though the face was hidden, Chanyeol sensed a smile behind the round, masculine voice. “Do I smell coffee? Or are you a tea drinker?” 

      Slowly, a blissful tingle slunk up Chanyeol’s neck, extinguishing the oppressive heat of his anxiety. Each low word, spoken with the sweetest intention, melted into him, rendering him completely pliant in his concrete haven. Sounds layered over each other, a story told in swishing, comforting exhales. Chanyeol felt his breath match that of his faceless savior, smoothing out into a relaxed, easy wave, cresting and falling with ease. 

      Twenty minutes passed in a moment. His pulse slowed, his muscles loosened, and he felt the panic recede away from the surface of him, replaced by relieved exhaustion. Waves of exquisite chills covered his scalp over and over, the voice steering him back to center. 

      “Thank you for loaning me your ears.” Gratitude bloomed in Chanyeol’s chest as he watched the video begin fading to black. The voice finished in a bashful lilt, curving through his ears with its customary coy suggestion. “Til next time…”

      Chanyeol minimized the video, noting he had a comfortable twelve minutes to climb his way out of his retreat and back into his schedule. It felt daunting, though the lingering bliss of the man’s voice rolling down his spine was a promise. Til next time. 


End file.
